My chest hurts. I’m not having a heart attack or anything. I just ache.

As I relayed yesterday, things have been stressful. Clearly, there’s a lot going on. And everything is changing. Changing so fast my head is spinning and half the time I don’t know where I’m going or how I’m going to get there.

I ache when I look at my kids, and My Mom and My Zen Master. Because I love them so much I feel like my heart is trying to beat it’s way through my sternum and out of my chest.

I ache when I look around my house because I know nothing will ever be the same.

I ache when I wake up crying or screaming in the night because I’ve had yet another sad or scary dream about my father.

I ache when The Zen Master looks at me with sadness in his eyes because when I hurt, he hurts and he just wants to make it better.

I ache when My Mom cries because her life is gone and she has to start all over again.

I ache when she tries with all her might to be calm and polite when he yells at her on the phone and then hangs up on her.

I ache because we’ve lost other people in our lives. We can’t go to his church anymore. Things are strained and awkward with family friends. Terry, who’s become a brother to me, and was going to come live with us when he got out, even Terry is difficult to talk to now.

I ache because… well, because I ache. Because I wake up in the morning and I feel like an old woman because my hip and my shoulder and my jaw still hurt.

I ache because it isn’t fair. To any of us, even him. Because he’s lost us too. And one day he will understand the gravity of that and it will hurt. And I honestly don’t want that.

And I ache for him. For My Daddy. Because I miss him. And he’s gone. He killed My Daddy that day and it will never be the same. Even if he ever forgives me (yes, because he just knows that what happened was all my fault), if we ever come to some sort of reconciliation (which is looking less and less likely right now), if that happens? I will still never be able to be alone in a room with him and feel safe. I will never be able to see his hand lift, even if it were for a handshake, without flinching. He is still my father and he will always be, and no matter how he treats me, or ignores me, or is mean to My Mom, I will still always love him. Unless he hurt my babies, cuz then all bets are off. But I don’t think he’d ever do that. But then again, it never occurred to me that he was even capable of what he did to me. But I still worry about him, bouncing around alone in that huge house, stewing in his anger at the injustice of it all.

I ache because I’m angry and sad and I’m still scared. And I don’t want any of that.

So I haven’t been blogging. Obviously. But I came to the realization tonight that I really, REALLY need to. I’ve been incredibly stressed lately. Things are wonderful and exciting and sad and infuriating all at the same time.

And terrifying. Can’t forget terrifying.

But tonight I figured out that I really have to blog. Because I’ve been censoring myself lately. Because I’ve been told that I’m annoying. And needy. And inconsiderate.

I had my evaluation at work yesterday. And while it was ok (satisfactory would be the word they used), there was also a survey from some of my peers about my good… and bad qualities.

I’m “mopey.” And “inappropriate.” And “unapproachable.” And I bring too much of my personal life to work.

My therapist even snapped at me.

And at home, I can’t seem to say anything without getting the impression (or being told straight out) that I’m just this huge emotional vortex and I can’t think of anyone but myself.

Which is really not the case at all.

I just don’t hold anything back. I don’t censor myself. If someone asks me how I am, or how my day was, I’m not going to smile and nod and say “fine” when I’m just not. Apparently most people do that. I just don’t. What you see is what you get.

So lately, I’ve just been avoiding people. Which doesn’t really come across as particularly friendly either. But I don’t really know what else to do. I’ve been withdrawing from my family, my friends, my co-workers, because I’m REALLY FUCKING TRYING not to burden anyone else with my shit. Because I KNOW that everybody has their own shit to deal with. That is just as important as mine. But because I’m trying to damp it down, to keep my stuff to myself so that I don’t appear like I’m seeking attention or pity or whatever the fuck people are thinking, I keep erupting at random intervals in this clusterfuck bundle of emotions that I can’t even sort out. The other day, my physical therapist asked me if I wanted to start my session on the treadmill and I just started crying. I don’t think I was sad, or angry. I don’t even know what it was. But I couldn’t stop. I cried the entire 45 minute session. I felt like an idiot. I felt weak and stupid and helpless and I HATE feeling like that.

We have a new house. It’s wonderful. But it’s not new, it’s old. It needs work. And money is not really readily available. I’m not even going to get into that whole heap of bullshit. We ran out of oil tonight. Which is particularly bad because we’re having the downstairs floor refinished and the finish can’t cure or something if the house is below 70. Which is difficult even with a full tank of oil because the house is old and kinda drafty. So we may need to call the floor guy tomorrow morning and tell him to wait because we can’t get an oil delivery until Monday and when I tried to give the phone to The Zen Master so the oil guy could tell him how to bleed the fuel line if we put diesel (yes. diesel) in the tank, he almost cried. And then he yelled at The Peach (who had just started tearing up some mail) and stormed into the basement. My ZEN MASTER. And all of My Mom’s worldly possessions are clustered in the living room because my adoring father (that was sarcasm) told her that she needed to come get her shit NOW or he was going to put it out in the driveway. The day before the biggest storm so far this year. And two days before we actually owned the fucking house. So she had to get movers in to pack AND move her instead of having a few days to pack on her own. We’re estimating he cost her about $1000 extra for the labor.

So it’s a little crowded. and stressful. And at the moment, cold. But we’re all here and safe and happy and together so it WILL be ok.

But anyway. All of this whole diatribe was to share my final conclusion. I HAVE TO WRITE THIS BLOG. I will completely disintegrate if I don’t have an outlet that is completely unfettered and free-reign where I can get shit out without worrying about hurting someone’s feelings or making someone angry, or making someone else feel like I need something from them. Because I don’t. All I need is to talk.